


To Wash A Mockingbird

by Portponky



Category: Black Books
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bathrooms, Bathtubs, Books, Crack, First Time, Handcuffs, Humiliation, M/M, Original Character(s), Spanking, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 15:46:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Portponky/pseuds/Portponky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bernard returned to the front of the shop. He scowled his face. "This isn't the first time you've locked a priest in the cupboard, is it?"</p>
<p>Manny quibbled. "I've told you already, the cold cupboard full of cured meats and yoghurt is called a fridge."</p>
<p>They both looked at the camera.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Wash A Mockingbird

Bernard Black sat at the desk of his book store, “Black Books”. He was relentlessly abusing a customer to pieces. The customer, a custardy old sparrow called Gentle Mr. Leighton, had attempted to purchase a book, a grave error which he was now regretting with all of his body. Bernard had handcuffed him to the desk leg and was beating him with a riding crop like he was a meat piñata.

Manny bumbled in the door like a hammer being pushed through a brick wall made of sponges. He was excited and bursting slightly because of it. “Bernard, take a look at this,” he sporked, “I've invented something just for you because I really like you.”

Before Bernard could brutally disparage Manny in to smithereens, Manny thrust an object in to his cold, leathery hands. It looked like a regular hot dog.

“It looks like a regular hot dog,” said Bernard, “you didn't invent this.” He was smooching off with pent-up rage.

“Ah, look closer,” explained Manny, “it is a drill dog.”

Bernard stared at it with his dead eyes. The hot dog inside the bun was rotating quickly, spinning around itself. Manny smiled gently and innocently, “I fitted it with electric drill parts, the rotation causes friction which keeps the snack warm and tasty all the time.”

“How have you done this?” Bernard asked angrily, “I don't like it.” He threw the drill dog across the room and it shattered on the wall in to a cloud of gears and processed meat.

Layers of Bernard's face began to perform nuclear fission and dissipate, as he began to collapse in to a stream of electrons, protons and neutrons escaping in all directions. This cascaded in to everything around him as all matter within the bounds of the shop converted in to a tidal wave of energy and radiation. As it swept outwards at the speed of light, the entirety of greater London was obliterated in to a swirling soup of sub-atomic particles and a colossal burst of heat.

“You always react badly to my inventions,” sobbed Manny, frustrated that he had once again failed to take their relationship to the next level.

Bernard frowned, and did not make an attempt to turn the frown upside-down. He was trying to imagine what the world would be like if his entire body was a fist. He decided that the world would be a lot better. At this point he was paralysed with hate and anger, fixated on the idea of a fist-body, and had not noticed that all of the customers had left the premises in fear. Even Gentle Mr. Leighton had escaped by lifting up the side of the desk and sliding the handcuffs off the bottom of the leg.

Only Manny was left, terrified and wibbling. He knew that Bernard's angry freezes could be arduous for all involved. As the only cure is rampant alcoholism, he fetched some wine from the kitchen and gave it to Bernard's flavourhole. That snapped him out of his trance and rebooted his brain. It took him a few moments to regain his bearings.

“If I'm having wine,” he pondered, “then today can't be totally bad.”

This pleased Manny, as all he ever wanted was for Bernard to be happy and to love him deeply and fully. Perhaps today was the day they would take their relationship to the next level. Manny was both timid and excited.

As this was the worst possible time for it, Fran appeared through the door. “Bums, poop,” she said, “fart.”

Typical. Absolutely typical, thought Manny, that Fran should just wander in to the situation and degrade everyone with her lowbrow conversation. She was an enabler for Bernard, like a washed up old boxer whose one last chance to regain glory is to train an upcoming fighter with an attitude problem and a difficult past, eventually fostering a father-son relationship with the upstart by finding predictable but surprising common ground resulting in a heart-warming if bland conclusion and maybe a Best Supporting Actor nomination if they're lucky.

“Willies,” Fran commented, “and also, it's time for your yearly bath, Bernard.”

Bernard turned every colour. He took to bathing like a caesium coated house-cat. He immediately started plan 41a, and made a break for the exit.

“Stop him,” yelled Manny, “he's implementing plan 41a.”

Bernard's violently drunken leggies were no match for Manny's strong, muscular thighs. Manny pounced and tackled Bernard to the ground, overpowering him and pinning him down. It was as if Adonis himself were about to spank a naughty panther. Everyone was breathing heavily, even Fran. Manny wondered if this was maybe half a step towards the next relationship level. It was a sexually tense moment.

“Nothing,” said Bernard, “nothing you can say will make me agree to a bath.”

Fran leaned at an angle of thirty degrees and produced a letter from her pocket. She read “Dear Mr Black, due to repeated customer complaints we must insist that you arrive at our premises in a sanitary and odour free state otherwise we have no choice but to bar you entrance to our entire franchise, yours sincerely, Oddbins Consumer Relations.”

Bernard prose. The reason gears in his head-noggin began to chug and the pieces of the puzzle sifted through sieve of logic. He stood up, defeated, and walked slowly towards the back. Manny knew this was serious, and intense, so he quickly drank a glass of industrial strength milk. Speaking quietly to Fran, who was still leaning, he said “don't worry, I'll take care of him.” Fran nodded.

Somewhere in the back of the store is a bathroom, probably. Bernard was fumbling around with the toilet in a great big muddle when Manny walked in. “Hey, you living crust,” said Bernard, “I have one question about this whole process, which is, basically, what's a bath?”

“It's simple,” chuffed Manny, “you have to sit in the water in the nude and without any clothes on. So the two things you have to be in are water and the nude. And, well, maybe, because of the nakedness, maybe I shouldn't be here.”

Bernard looked Manny directly in the eye and said, “if one of us should be ashamed of their body, it's not me.”

Bernard then consented so hard that his clothes just blew off his body in a whirlwind. He stood before Manny, all messy and nude and tempting like a chip sandwich. This, thought Manny, was the next level in their relationship: being body comfortable.

Manny drew a bath in seconds. He gently lifted Bernard up and placed him in the tub, slowly enough that Bernard wouldn't think it was too hot and get a singe. Bernard had the expression of a person with a scared expression on their face. “I'm scared that I might die,” he said, fearing for his life.

Due to his overwhelming kindness, Manny cooed and stroked Bernard's hair to reassure him, and lit a scented candle to improve the atmosphere. He grabbed any number of sponges and started rubadubbing Bernard carefully to remove the built up tack on his skin. The bath water turned yellow with effluent. Manny was careful to clean everything, including the penis, which I might add was sturdy, sizeable and, yes, ejaculating regularly.

After the washing came the soaking. Bernard soaked in the tub, whilst Manny soaked in the atmosphere, which was scented. It was peaceful and relaxing, and Manny enjoyed being comfortable in front of Bernard's nude, wet, writhing body. The whole scenario played deeply in to Manny's craving for physical openness. They let the situation be, until soaking was complete and bath time was over.

The exterior of Bernard was remarkably clean as he emerged from the bath. The whole process was a baptism in to the world of being clean, which to be fair is a general description of the process of bathing. After being repeatedly cupped with towels, he dressed himself and the pair returned to the front of the shop where Fran was now leaning at one hundred and sixty degrees.

“There, are you happy?” asked Bernard, “I'm clean all over, and I'm having a rubbish time, and,” he added, “I'm really itchy and unhappy.”

Fran launched wine at his gobblechops, which was instantly pacifying. He slouched in to his chair and lit a cigarette. Would everything never be the same? He didn't have an answer. The letter from Oddbins was moving around on the desk so he grabbed it for common perusal. It didn't take two lines before he got a full fist-on of rage. “This is a hand written letter,” he simmered, “and it's written in your handwriting, Manny,” he boiled.

At this point, Manny already had his coat and hat on and was eloping out the door. Bernard pulled a gun and threw it at Manny in a fist of rage. Meanwhile, Fran had almost completed a full rotation.


End file.
